Novus Initium
by SweetSalazar
Summary: "This could not be happening. Harry glanced at the ratty calendar on his cupboard wall. It was his eleventh birthday, and all that could not have been just a dream." Non-magic, St. Brutus, Tomarry, Slowburn, A.U.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Hope Dies Last**

Harry stared at the love of his life. It was his wedding day and Ginny Weasley looked absolutely beautiful in her wedding gown. The youngest Weasley's flaming red hair cascaded down her back as she strode down the aisle of the church, and made her way to the altar where Harry stood.

They looked into each other's eyes, and time seemed to come to a complete halt. Slowly, Harry caressed his soon-to-be wife's cheek and bent down to capture her lips in a kiss. He could hear Molly sobbing and the church bells chiming in the distant background.

The bells grew louder, and Harry winced at the sound, but no one else seemed to notice. Then the sound became sharper and less hollow - like knocks on wood. He looked around, noticing that his vision was fading in and out. _'What's going o-'_

"Get UP!"

Harry's eyes flew open.

"Now!"

He was in his cupboard.

"I said GET UP!" Petunia screeched and gave one last hard slap on the door.

This could not be happening. Harry glanced at the ratty calendar on his cupboard wall. It was his eleventh birthday, and all that _could not_ have been just a dream.

Moving on autopilot, Harry got up from his cot and trudged towards the kitchen in order to prepare breakfast for the Dursleys.

 _'That definitely wasn't a dream'_

As the eleven-year-old entered the kitchen, a large wad of gray fabric was flung at his face. He peeled the soggy fabric from his glasses and glanced over in his aunt's direction. She was bent over a tub of murky gray water, and Harry realized that she had been dying the clothes which she threw at him.

"What's this?" he questioned.

"Your uniform." she replied curtly.

"Uniform? Why?" He didn't need this sorry excuse for a uniform. He was supposed to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and they had flowing black robes with the school's emblem embroidered on the front pocket, not these pathetic worn-out rags.

Petunia gave him a disdainful look, "For school. No more questions, boy. Go make breakfast."

"What school? I'm supposed to go to Hogwarts. They don't have these uniforms there!" Harry was confused, it wasn't possible for his experiences at Hogwarts to be a dream. They were just too realistic.

"What are you blabbering on about boy?" Vernon stomped into the kitchen, his heavy steps making the floor vibrate. Petunia just stared at Harry like he was crazy. "Get on with breakfast. I don't have time to put up with your tomfoolery."

Harry turned towards the stove, and with his soggy 'school uniform' sagging over his shoulder, he began to cook a batch of pancakes. There was no way he'd accept this. There was just no way…

* * *

Harry was in the garden, on the front lawn, half-heartedly plucking weeds. It had only been a couple hours since he woke up, and nobody seemed to remember that he was a wizard. Granted the Dursleys never liked talking about the _m-word_ , but they still acknowledged that he was somehow different from 'normal people' like them. Now, however, they just acted like he was a burden that they needed to be put to better use. Nothing more, just an unwanted addition to the household.

He started yanking the weeds out more violently and flinging them into the pile next to him. It was true, right? He really was a wizard, the Dursleys just didn't want to accept the truth. It… was the truth… right?

There was a rustling in the bushes next to him, and when he peeked over, he saw a small garden snake slithering out from under it. Suddenly Harry was hit with a brilliant idea. He didn't need his family to admit that he was magical; he could prove this himself! The young boy got up and neared the snake. He would speak parseltongue.

"Hello little snake! You can understand me, right? My family won't acknowledge that I'm a wizard, but if I talk to you, then I can prove to myself that I really am a wizard!"

The snake hissed at him, but Harry couldn't understand it. How did he speak parseltongue in the first place? Maybe he should hiss back?

"Harry?" The boy jumped, and whipped around to see Mrs. Figg "What are you doing over there? Is that a snake?"

Harry did his best to hide the snake. After all, parseltongue was not viewed as a desirable trait, in wizard or muggle societies. "Uh- Nothing Mrs. Figg!" ...wait a second... "MRS. FIGG YOU'RE A SQUIB!"

"I'm a what?!" Mrs. Figg looked at him aghast, "Harry, I don't think it's nice to call your elders names! Goodness, what are they teaching you kids in schools these day-"

"Mrs. Figg! I'm a wizard right? Remember that time I fought off the dementors? And you were sent here by Dumbledore to watch over me, right? To protect me from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, right? Because I'm the boy-who-lived, right?! RIGH-"

"HARRY!" Petunia yelled at him from the front porch. He turned around and saw his aunt looking about ready to blow a gasket. Mrs. Figg, on the other hand, looked concerned for the boy's mental health. Petunia took a deep breath "Harry, didn't you say you wanted to help weed the garden? I don't believe weeding involves talking to others." His aunt's smile was very strained.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia…" Harry went back to plucking the weeds.

Petunia Walked over to Mrs. Figg, an apology on her lips, when the elderly woman asked, "Harry was saying some rather strange things, just now. Is… Is he alright?"

"What do you mean?" Petunia hedged.

"Well. I… I saw him attempting to converse with a snake, and then he called me a squib - lord knows what that even means - and then he mentioned something about dem-dementies? Deminties? Anyway, he said that he was the boy-who-lived and that I was meant to protect him from a pair of moldy shorts? Did he bump his head this morning? Petunia dear, he's acting awfully strange…"

Petunia swallowed down the lump in her throat, "Ah, yes well, he had a... terrible dream last night, and I think he um... hasn't gotten over it yet. You know, strange things affect him a lot more lately - ever since we told him about his parents' death, the tramp and her sorry excuse of a husband."

"That's a lie." Harry murmured, but apparently not quite enough to evade his aunt's ears. "My parents were killed-"

"WELL THEN! I think the heat is getting to Harry!" Petunia scurried over to her nephew, grabbed his shoulders, and steered him towards the house, "I apologize for Harry inconveniencing you, Mrs. Figg," Petunia hollered over her shoulder and shut the door behind her.

"What were you thinking?!" Petunia hissed, grabbing her nephew by the scruff of his neck and shaking him hard. " _Were_ you thinking?!"

"You're the one who lied about my parents' death! They were heroes! They died protecting me, and you told me they died in a car crash! So, what were _YOU_ thinking?!"

Petunia was livid. Her face was fire-engine red as she raised her hand and slapped Harry across the face. She shoved Harry into the cupboard under the stairs and locked the door.

"I will hear no more of this nonsense you freak! Your parents were good for nothing, and they died in a car crash!" she whispered venomously, "I don't know what has caused you to act more like a lunatic than usual, but you will stay in there until you can get your act together, or you won't have meals for a week!"

And with that, Harry was left to spend the rest of the day in his cramped and dank cupboard. He would most likely be without meals for today anyway, but that wasn't what bothered him. Why didn't anybody believe he was a wizard. Mrs. Figg was supposed to be on his side…

 _'Was it really a dream after all?'_

* * *

The sun had long since gone down, and Harry had been in his cupboard fuming for the entire day. He had felt confused and betrayed, but he refused to believe that he had dreamt up the entire wizarding world.

Now, however, the boy was desperate. Harry was starting to question whether Hogwarts and everyone really had been a dream. Hell, as long as it wasn't a dream, he would even be fine dealing with Voldemort all over again! Harry had even tried praying to any deity that was willing to answer his calls but soon gave up after a couple failed attempts.

Why would they care about him anyway? If any divine being had cared about him, then he wouldn't have been stuck with the Dursleys in the first place.

Harry bit his nails and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for something magical to happen - anything that could tie him to the world which he so longed to be a part of.

…nothing…

He glanced around the cupboard looking for an item that he could use to cast magic with. Maybe he put his wand underneath his pillow!

…nothing…

He shut his eyes again and focused really, really hard. He willed his magic to rise and heed his call.

...nothing…

 _'No. No! Nonononono!'_ This could not be happening. It could just _not_ be happening!

"Think, Harry! What's a spell that you know? Something that is simple and easy to cast without a wand… Ah ha! That's right!" the boy cleared his throat, and stuck out his palm, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

It didn't work.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he tried again.

Still, nothing happened.

"Leviosa! Levi-OH-sa! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

There was no sign of anything floating.

Why? Why did life decide to play cruel tricks on him?

Tears were streaming down the boy's face, his glasses were fogged over, and he knew that his attempts at magic had failed miserably. He sobbed and sobbed. It wasn't fair! What had he done to deserve this? It just wasn't fair…

 _'It really was a dream...'_

That night, Harry curled up into a ball and cried himself to sleep.

 _'Magic, my friends, Hogwarts... It had all been a dream...'_

* * *

Petunia Dursley was never one for the physical aspect of romance. She hated the way her body looked - tall and lanky with no amount of curves or shape - and she resolved to never use her body for floozy practices, unlike Lily.

Perfect Lily, her sister had brains and beauty. She could have been so successful in life, but she fell in love with that broke photographer, Potter, and decided to go into modeling. Her sister had whored herself out in front of a camera all for the sake of 'art', and Petunia was absolutely disgusted by the girl's ignorance towards her own potential. Petunia never wanted to be like that, so she promised herself to never sleaze around.

There were only two exceptions, in her life, when the conservative woman chose to let loose. The first being when her and Vernon decided to have Dudley, and the second being right now.

Vernon had called on his way home, saying that he was in for a promotion. She was so proud of her Verney, for working hard and gaining success the _normal way,_ that she decided _a_ _proper congratulations_ was in order. Currently, she was in the master bathroom dousing herself in the rosewater perfume Marge had gotten her last Christmas. Vernon was on their bed watching the telly, and she took the moment to collect herself.

"Okay, Petunia. You can do this. There is nothing wrong with a little private display of affection as long as it's in the confines of your own home. It's for Verney, you can do this."

Petunia adjusted her fluffy, lavender bathrobe, and in a moment of sheer resolve, she proceeded to open the bathroom door then lean sensually against the frame.

"Congratulations Verneykins~" she cooed.

The dumpty man looked over at his wife, eyes widening and face flushing fuchsia, as the remote fell from his hands.

"Pe-Pe-Petunia dearest!" Vernon spluttered as he took in the image of his wife posing sexually against the door frame, "I… uh um…" he gulped, "thought you didn-"

"Sh sh sh, Verney-pooh. Tonight, it is all about you~" God this was embarrassing. _'How did Lily do it?'_

Petunia prowled her way over towards Vernon, and made to straddle his legs when-

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

 _'What in the world?'_ Petunia and Vernon shared a look.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Is that the brat? Why that good for nothing little- What is he doing?" Petunia didn't even have time to respond.

"Leviosa!"

"I think-"

"Levi-OH-sa!"

"I think he-"

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

"GOOD GOD VERNON! I THINK THE BOYS FINALLY CRACKED!"

They heard loud sobs coming from down stairs.

"That's it! I have had it with the boy's freakish tendencies! I'm not putting up with this blasphemy anymore! We're sending him to St. Brutus!" With that, Vernon stormed out of their room in order to call the correction facility.

Petunia sighed.

So much for _a proper congratulations_ … Then again, maybe it was just as well.

* * *

Chapter 1 End


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Hope is for the weak**

Tom's eyes flashed open. The feeling of his entire body disintegrating into thin air was still fresh on his mind. Sweat pooled along Tom's forehead, and trickled down the side of his face as the boy attempted to organize his thoughts.

 _'What a strange dream'_ Tom took in a deep breath.

"It felt so real…"

The boy's dark blue eyes stared lifelessly at the crumbling ceiling of Wool's Orphanage, and he contemplated the entirety of his dream, remembering how the wizarding world cowered at the mere mention of his name. He re-envisioned the awe glimmering in the eyes of his Death Eaters when they got even the tiniest glimpse of his power. Tom wanted that power. Be it through fear or charm, he wanted people to submit to him just as his Death Eaters had. But that power was only his in a dream, and as reality would have it, Tom was stuck in a shabby orphanage filled with people that he hated.

 _'How could such power now?'_ Obviously, obtaining magical abilities were out of the question. Tom wasn't stupid enough to so much as hope for that possibility.

The youth didn't have the time to consider any other options, when all of a sudden, his door slammed open and Matron Cole stormed in. The stocky woman was on him in a second - grabbing Tom's upper arm in a vise-like grip and hauling him from his bed. She then proceeded to storm out of the room with Tom hanging from her hold on his upper arm.

The matron dragged the boy downstairs, and placed him in front of a rather gruesome sight. Tom, who had been busy trying to worm his way out of the matron's grip, glanced up at the display in front of him and couldn't help but smirk involuntarily.

" _This!_ " Mrs. Cole growled as she roughly shook the boy by his now aching arm, "I _know_ you did this!"

In front of Tom hung a small white rabbit. The poor creature was suspended from the ceiling by a thin string wrapped taught around its neck.

A group of children began to gather around the tiny bunny and a loud wail erupted as one kid, Billy Stubbs, emerged from the crowd.

"Minnie! No!" Billy ran up to his dead pet rabbit. He jumped and flailed his arms, trying to get the rabbit down from the ceiling. Fortunately for Tom, Billy was too short to reach the bunny and only succeeded batting Minnie like a piñata. Tom found this spectacle to be very amusing, but kept his expression blank.

Snot drained from the Billy's nose, and he shed tears of pure hatred when he looked at Tom. "It was _you_ wasn't it?" the boy accused.

Tom merely quirked an eyebrow at Billy, "You have no proof."

"I don't need proof! Only _you_ could do something this- this mean!"

A girl with long blond curls moved to the front of the small crowd of children and spoke up, "Um... Mrs. Cole, I saw Tom and Billy arguing yesterday. I think Tom said something really bad, so Billy punched him. Maybe he killed Billy's rabbit to get back at him…" The girl clutched the brown teddy bear she was holding between her arms and shifted in her spot.

Tom glared daggers at the girl who seemed to cower even further behind her bear, _'Amy Benson, wasn't it?'_ He'd have to get back at her too.

Mrs. Cole's grip on Tom's arm tightened to an almost excruciating level. She barked out orders to the orphanage's other staff members, yelling at them to get the rabbit down from the ceiling. The boy's arm was growing numb from the matron's tight grip, but he wouldn't humor her with a response. That would be a show of weakness, and Tom wasn't weak.

Once the small animal had been taken down, and the other staff herded the group of children out of the room, Mrs. Cole turned her attention to the eleven-year-old at her side. The matron's expression was stony and accusing, and Tom wanted to scoff but settled for clearing his throat.

Mrs. Cole was always looking for an excuse to get Tom in trouble, and the boy wondered what his punishment would be this time around. _'Maybe another week of dish duty? How very intimidating.'_

"What are you playing at Tom?" The matron's voice was sharp and biting, "Three times now, something like this has happened. You know, you're not as sneaky as you believe yourself to be. We installed security cameras last weekend. We do have proof that you killed Billy's rabbit. As for the other two times, well, the rest of the staff and I are all in agreement that you are the most likely culprit."

Tom put on his most innocent expression and bat his eyelashes slightly, "What other two times, Mrs. Cole? I fail to see what you are accusing me of." He could have sworn the matron's eye twitched.

"My god, Tom! We all know you did it, so drop the act! I know that you and matron Sinclair didn't get along, but to push her down the stairs?! She broke both her legs and bashed her head open on the floor. She's comatose in a hospital right now, but if she were awake, I have no doubt she would be screaming to have your hide skinned and pinned to a prison wall in some third world country! And what were you thinking, unleashing a snake in Jason's room like that!? Don't even try to deny it, we all know you have an abnormal obsession with snakes and would be the only person to go near one of those filthy little creatures! What if it had bit him?! What if it had venom?! MOST SNAKES HAVE VENOM YOU UTTER FOOL!"

Tom's nostrils flared. Of course he knew most snakes had venom. What did she take him for? A lobotomized monkey?

Mrs. Cole's grasp was so bruising now, that come tomorrow, Tom was sure he would have a black and blue print of her hand on his arm.

 _'This is absolute rubbish!'_ The pig couldn't accuse him of those last two incidents simply because they caught him this one time, even if it really had been his fault! Which it had, but Tom saw no reason in telling the old hag that.

When the stress-worn matron glared at Tom, and noticed that he didn't look the slightest bit remorseful, something in her snapped.

Her next words were quiet and cold, barely even a whisper, "I'm done Tom. You have tried your luck too many times, and it has finally worn off. Come this September, we will be sending you to St. Brutus Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. You are not to leave your room for the rest of summer. We will send all of your meals up to you, and you will only be allowed to use the restroom once a day in the company of an escort. If any of the matrons are to hear so much as a peep from your mouth, then you can consider your entire book collection as good as gone. Get to your room. Now."

* * *

Tom was beyond furious! He had been locked in his room for almost an entire month now, and he felt like fucking Rapunzel! However, the fact that Tom didn't even have his meager collection of books to entertain him, was far worse than feeling like a damsel in distress.

Jason had gone and tattled on him to Matron Cole, claiming that Tom had been cursing in his room. As a result, Mrs. Cole had stormed up to Tom's room and confiscated all of his reading material. Tom had tried to hide one of his favorite books under his pillow, but that was the second place the matron had looked after getting some of the older boys to haul Tom's bookshelf out of his room.

That had happened only a week after his room sentence began.

Tom should have released something more dangerous than a simple garden snake into Jason's room. Like a rabid dog. Where would he be able to find a rabid dog in the middle of London?

The boy mostly bided his time by counting down the days til his going to St. Brutus. Despite what Mrs. Cole thought, Tom was actually looking forward to going to the correctional facility. The boarding school would provide him with an ideal escape from this hell hole disguised as an orphanage. Not only that, but St. Brutus would be the perfect petri-dish to cultivate a following.

Tom wanted power, and though he couldn't take over the world through magic, he could influence the world through his future connections.

The boarding school was a place where many well-off families and influential people sent their unruly children. Though the school wasn't very prestigious or expensive, it was the only correctional school in the U.K.; therefore, not only would there be rich kids coming from prominent families, but there would also be students with connections to the underground or the cartel. The boy was not bellow getting involved with the sketchier aspects of society, so long as they gave him power.

Tom would befriend those children with the best connections - use his charm on them - and by the time he graduated, he would have the heirs of Britain's most powerful families along with the rising stars of the underworld at his fingertips.

This plan couldn't fail. It was brilliant!

Only two more days until he could leave this termite infested, rat cage.

* * *

Harry sat in the back seat of the Dursley family car as he watched the London skyline gradually transform into a twisting forest of trees. It was an overcast day, and so far, Harry had been traveling in the car with Vernon for two long, tension-filled hours. Large crows stared back at the green eyed boy from the tops of the trees, and the occasional 'caw' could be heard in the silence of the drive. The whole scene was rather intimidating, like something out of a horror movie, and it didn't help that the final destination was a school full of mental kids.

Harry sighed dejectedly, maybe it was a good thing to get away from the Dursleys. He wouldn't have to sleep in the cramped cupboard anymore, and he'd most likely be fed better. Not to mention, he wouldn't have to deal with Dudley and his goons either, but then again, he might run into even more trouble at his new school...

' _This is a mess...'_ Harry thought to himself as Vernon drove the car down a loose gravel road and up to a large gated entrance. Two stocky guards stood on either side of the metal gate. Each were holding clubs similar to the ones Harry had seen cops carrying on his trips to London with his old classmates. In all honesty, the gate guards looked more like trolls to Harry. Neither of them looked very smart, and the taller of the two was actually scratching his butt. Harry looked away from the the taller guard, mildly disgusted.

The car came to a halt just in front of the rusted gates, and Vernon turned to glance at his nephew.

"Get your trunk out of the back."

Harry did so.

While Harry was grappling with his trunk, Vernon waddled over to the smaller guard who looked slightly more civilized and well kept than the guard to his left. Harry's uncle handed them what the boy assumed to be his admittance verification. When Vernon came back, he shoved a student I.D. card and lanyard into his nephew's hand, then got back in the car, rolled down the window, and spat "Don't lose it."

Before the eleven-year-old new it, his uncle's car was nothing but a speck in the distance.

"Good bye to you, too…" Harry murmured under his breath.

The boy despondently turned to the guards and walked up to the gate, finally taking in the site of his new school. Harry couldn't help but gawk dumbly at the sight of the menacing building.

St. Brutus Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys was the complete opposite of Hogwarts. The school was only comparable to a prison or an asylum with its all white and rusted exterior, most of the windows had bars on the outside, and there were electrically wired fences surrounding the entire building. There was no depth to the edifice, it was a rectangular four-story building with the same amount of windows on every level. The only thing giving the large building some personality was a pair of enormous, wooden double doors which were placed smack dab in the center of the drab looking structure.

Harry swallowed audibly, trying not to look intimidated but failing miserably. The guards opened the gate and Harry made his way to gigantic entrance.

The eleven-year-old felt extremely awkward opening the double doors. They creaked and groaned as he forced them ajar.

Calming himself, Harry inhaled deeply, and took his first step into the last place he wanted to be.

' _Here goes nothing.'_

* * *

 **Chapter 2 End**

* * *

Author's Note:

Hope you guys enjoyed the quick update! BTW my co-author and I love to see those reviews! ;)

Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Can't Get a Break**

The first day at Harry's new school was going, surprisingly, well enough. The boy had been trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in order to deter any attention directed towards himself. He had arrived about 3 hours before the opening ceremony (the Dursleys were just _that excited_ to get rid of him), so Harry was able to find a nice and empty table in the far corner of the dining hall. He sat, twiddling his thumbs, and waited 2 more hours until more and more students began to trickle in.

The hall was just as bland and clinical looking as the outside of the school had been. There were no floating candles or long oak tables, like Harry experienced in his dream school. No, it was a typical cafeteria-like setting with its whitewashed walls and its fluorescent lights - which were beginning to give Harry a biting migraine.

The boy took off his glasses, scrunched up his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease his pounding headache.

At that exact moment, Harry failed to notice another boy enter the drab dining hall.

A familiar boy with dark blue eyes and elegant features, who strutted into the large room with all the confidence of a king surrounded by his subjects. That boy made his way to the very forepart of the room and sat directly in front of the professors' table.

Both boys were oblivious to the other's presence.

Harry sighed tiredly and slipped his glasses back on. There were a lot more people in the hall now, but that was to be expected with only twenty minutes until the start of the opening ceremony. Time had passed by dreadfully slow as the boy waited for the introduction to begin, but nonetheless, Harry wished it would go even slower. On the bright side, no one had chosen to sit at Harry's table (there was a reason he picked a spot by the trash cans).

The professors began to take their seats at the front table, and after a little more waiting the ceremony began.

A tall, lanky man with beady eyes and a balding head stood at the center of the teachers' table and cleared his throat.

The room grew silent.

"To those of you brats who don't know, I am Headmaster Farwell." the man said in a flat and scratchy voice, "I will not appease you with pleasantries, as we all know none of you deserve them." He eyed a group of boys in the very center of the room with disdain. The group, in turn, winked and blew kisses to the headmaster. The students around them laughed and whistled flirtatiously, and the headmaster looked ready to spit fire.

Oh, this was a lovely start indeed.

"You will follow the rules that this school has set in place," Farwell grit out, "and if you are stupid enough to break them - as I have no doubt many of you are - then the punishment will be served accordingly…" The headmaster gave pointed looks at a couple other tables before he continued. "Since the first years are unaccustomed to the rules of this institution, I will detail them this one time only. So pay attention."

Naturally, Harry started to zone in and out of the headmaster's long-winded drabble and only keyed in on the most important parts.

Apparently, classes would start the following Monday at 8:00 A.M. and dorms were on the fourth floor...yadda yadda yadda... That was as far as the normal information went anyway.

After that, the headmaster droned on and on about how alcohol and drugs were prohibited on campus, and that sneaking prostitutes into the school was grounds for an entire month's worth of bathroom cleanup duty, since expulsion was not an option in a correctional facility. That part had actually gotten a lot of 'boos' from the student population. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cringe, as it was all very amusing if not slightly disturbing. He couldn't imagine the bathrooms at the school being hygienic, but living with the Dursleys had placed him in even less desirable situations than the former, so the idea of said disciplinary measure did not phase him much. Not that he was planning on doing anything which would give him that punishment in the first place.

The headmaster ended his speech with a malicious smirk, "If either of the two caretakers is to catch any of you out of bed after curfew, then nightmares will seem like a valley of roses compared to what you're really in for. Enjoy your meal..."

When Farwell had stopped talking all the students jumped up from their seats and scurried over to the food line; pushing and shoving each other in order to get first dibs on whatever the cafeteria had to offer. Harry did so as well, eagerly taking part in the mayhem and excited that he'd be getting a proper meal for once - even if it was just cafeteria gruel.

Unfortunately, the boy's height and scrawny build put him at a disadvantage. Thus, he ended up being dead last to get his food. The man serving the meal gave him a pitying look and served Harry his scraps, but Harry was thrilled to be getting the amount of food that he was.

The rest of dinner went fine, and by the end of the meal, Harry was feeling significantly stuffed. He patted his stomach and waited for Farwell to give his orders, which consisted of a concise "Dorms. Now."

Yes, if he followed the rules and kept his head down, then he will be just fine.

Maybe this school wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

Off towards the front of the room, Tom Riddle was chatting amicably with a few of the senior students while leisurely heading towards his new living situation.

* * *

Harry was utterly and hopelessly lost.

Where had the headmaster said the student dorms were again?

After being trampled by the entire student body - therefore making him the last to exit the dining hall - the eleven year old had gone searching for the restrooms, and now he couldn't find his way back to the cafeteria. He had searched and searched, and that had only made him even more lost! Eventually, Harry had given up and decided to head to the dorms, but alas, he could not even remember where Headmaster Farwell had said that they were!

This brought the young boy to his current predicament; searching every floor for the dorms. Unfortunately for the young boy, the layout of the school was a lot more complex and maze-like than its outward appearance... On top of that, Harry only had an hour 'til curfew, and he had hardly finished covering the second floor.

"I'm so screwed…!" Harry groaned to himself as he rounded another corner.

* * *

Tom was not impressed with St. Brutus.

He expected this school to be a little more original given its title as a correctional facility. He was expecting a hierarchy of kids leading to the top, most influential students. He was expecting a ladder that he could climb, all the way up, and overthrow whoever was in charge. Blast it! He was expecting a school run by the most cunning and ambitious of Britain's future leaders of organized crime!

What he got was nothing more than a despicable fraternity, lead by a bunch of superstitious immature little boys!

Tom was standing in the side common room of the boy's dormitory and wearing a ceremonial garb. He was covered from head to toe in a long white robe that looked more like Mrs. Cole's nightgown, and the young boy was about to partake in the school's unofficial initiation ceremony. Otherwise known as hazing.

He was not happy. For God's sake, this was absolutely preposterous!

The room was divided in half, between the first years and all the other students. Every one of the first years was wearing the same ridiculous white robes, while only a select few of the older students were donning maroon red cloaks with hoods over their heads and black masks covering each person's entire face. Splitting the two sides, was a small wooden standing table. On it rested a goblet of some dark colored liquid, emulating wine - Tom assumed it was only grape juice, judging by the people he was dealing with - and a needle along with a scrolled up piece of parchment.

A student at the front of the red-cloaks cleared his throat, "We have gathered you all here this evening to induct you into our brotherhood."

Tom wanted to gag at the overdone quality of the speech. This was a complete joke!

The head red-cloak continued, "The headmaster may have informed you of the most basic rules for this school, but there are some unwritten laws you must follow should you not wish to be eaten alive."

It was going to be a long night, Tom sighed and schooled his features. He would have to put up with the idiots until he could change these tasteless ceremonies, and he _would_ be making changes.

"First off, we have an established hierarchy here at St. Brutus. Follow your betters, or suffer the consequences." With that, all the red-cloaks started cracking their knuckles. "We also have a tradition to uphold as students of this institution. This tradition demonstrates the respect we pay to the higher-up students; those with more power and influence."

The mentioning of this managed to garner Tom's interest. It looked like the students did have a form of hierarchy which he could work with.

"We have a step system where older students recruit younger students for assistance in their tasks - whatever they may be. All first and second year students are required to follow one of the older students. If one of the students from third year or up approaches you for this purpose, you are required to accept. Unless of course, another student asks you as well. In cases like these, the older student has priority. If you are - for some reason - to decline an offer, expect consequences... _Harsh_ consequences." The red-cloaks cracked their knuckles for the second time.

' _Interesting,'_ Tom thought to himself. If he were to choose the right person to be his so called 'leader', then he could gain the proper connections and work his way up the miserable ladder. Though the students had been handling the school in a rather cliché manner, it was a starting place that Tom could develop even further to his benefit.

Tom scanned the room, looking for the best candidate to be his mentor of sorts. The person would have to be someone that is easily gullible, but not necessarily a pushover. He would need to have connections with a majority of the people at the top of the school's food chain, and he would need to be in his second to last year of school. That way, once Tom was in his third year, he wouldn't have his 'better' holding him back. Tom would be able to start weaving his way into the schools most prominent circle, uproot it, and build his empire from the bottom up.

He forced his attention back to the school's hidden rules and gathered the other bits of information. He noted that the institute actually did have an underground black market which students could trade through, but only on specific days, lest it become suspicious and they risk getting caught. This black market - or rather 'supply day' as the students had so proudly dubbed it - had everything from porn to video games to actual school supplies, and people could buy with money or barter with other goods they thought were of value.

Tom had no interest in what the underground was selling, but he was intrigued with the idea of being a vendor. The only problem was that he had nothing to sell.

This would take some plotting.

* * *

By the time Harry reached the third floor, it had been five minutes past curfew.

Just great, the first day at his new school, and he was already breaking rules!

Harry made another turn and stopped dead in his tracks. He heard two voices in the near distance, and just knew that those voices were not some other students running around after hours.

The two caretakers… Shit!

Harry looked around the hallway and, in a panic, scuttled into the first classroom he laid eyes on. Closing the door as quickly and quietly as possible, Harry took a deep breath and slumped to the ground as he waited for the two guards, Skikes and Hael if he remembered correctly, to pass.

"Heard Farwell's gonna be on'r asses this year." One of the caretakers murmured just outside the door. His voice was low and gruff, like that of a smoker.

"No doubt. The number of students at this school just keeps growing, and we all know he can't stand the kids here." The other caretaker let out a sigh.

"Really though, 'e's a slave driver. How does 'e expect just the two of us to corral all these brats? I mean they're a sneaky bunch. Up to no good I tell yer, but in my entire time at this school, I've only had five drug busts. Five! I know it's just yer first year here, Hael, but with this lot, five drug busts in the span of ten years is s'spicious. I swear, Scarwall may seem overly distrustful of the kids 'ere, but there is a reason for it. We just 'ave li'l proof."

"Guess we'll have to keep a sharper eye out then," Hael laughed sheepishly, "and here I thought being a caretaker would be easier than my past job as a traffic cop in Piccadilly. Instead of loud obnoxious drivers, I'm dealing with spoiled rich kids. Honestly, though, this school is way too expensive for the average family. If any middle class or lower kids are here, I'll wager that either their families really wanted to get rid of them, or they're one of those 'special cases' that the government subsidizes. Hell of a job the school is doing at keeping those kids in line. It's damn hard to cover this entire school with only the two of us."

"Perks of the job muh friend. Perks of the job… At least yer not doin' it alone. I tell yer, my work has become loads easier since yer arrival."

"You're welcome," Hael remarked dryly.

"Anyway..." Skikes droned on, "I say we go get pissed on Farwell's wine stash. He never leaves his quarters on the first night and the same for the brats on the fourth floor. 'Sides, I'm right knackered from guarding the gates all day."

"I dunno John-"

"Ahhh it'll be fine Tim! Trust me, I've done it before~ 'Sides, after the first night our illustrious headmaster practically vanishes from the school 'till the end of the semester." Skikes replied sarcastically.

The two guards' voices slowly disappeared down the hall, and Harry exhaled in relief. At least he didn't have to worry much about getting caught on his way to the dorms now.

The boy took the moment of quiet as an opportunity to recover his nerves and assess his surroundings. Maybe the room had a map of the school somewhere. A dim light from the hallway shined through the dust covered window and allowed for only minimal visibility. Fortunately for Harry, that was enough to get a good look at his surroundings. The room was obviously uninhabited, with boxes piled almost to the ceiling, and the boy realized the area could not have been a classroom because it was too small.

' _Maybe it was an office at one point.'_ Harry thought to himself.

Picking himself up from his spot against the wall, Harry moved around the room. There was a small oak desk that was covered in a thick layer of dust, but even Harry could recognize the craftsmanship that went into creating the table. The boy brushed the collecting dust off a part of the desk and marveled at the etchings on the oak. Intricate vines were sculpted around the perimeter of the small wood desk. Large hydrangea flowers were sculpted at each of the four corners, and the vines at the top twisted and curled to form the words-

"Novus Initium…" the words rolled quietly off of Harry's tongue, though he probably butchered the pronunciation, "I wonder what that means?"

The boy maneuvered around the desk, quickly losing interest in the patterns - as they were a bit too girly for his liking - and peeked into its only drawer hoping to find what he was looking for. Inside lay a small grandfather clock, about the size of a grown man's hand. The clock was made of the same rich wood as the desk and had the same vine design as the front of the table. There was no battery in the clock, so the time wasn't accurate, but the object's presence took Harry out of his little reverie and reminded him of what he really needed to be doing.

Placing the clock back in its drawer and closing it, Harry scanned the room one last time. Sure enough, there was a fire escape map by the door he came in through. There weren't any dorm labeled on the map which meant they had to be on the fourth floor. The eleven-year-old quickly exited the room and made his way to where he now knew the dorms were.

* * *

Upon the boy's arrival at the dorms, Harry found no one to be in the common room. The room was populated with only a couple ratty, blue couches and a few scattered wooden chairs. However, on one of the sofas rested a folded piece of white clothing and a paper slip with his initials on it. Harry assumed that he was meant to wear the parcel, so he picked up the fabric and slipped it over his body. It was a small nightgown-like robe: similar to something he'd seen Aunt Petunia wear before bed, except with a hood attached to it.

After a few more looks around the room, Harry noticed a muffled voice coming from down a small hall to the left of the common room. He followed the noise until he came across a room a quarter the size of the dining hall with practically the entire school shoved into it.

Luckily, all the students in white were positioned in front of the room's entrance, so he was able to blend in seamlessly; thankful that his height - or lack thereof - prevented others from seeing his arrival.

Harry didn't think that he had missed anything too important since the rules were presented at dinner, and he didn't want to make himself stand out by asking, so the boy stayed silent and pretended like he had been in the room the entire time.

Eventually, the boy stood on his tiptoes to get a better look at the other side of the room, and he noticed that the person, who Harry had heard talking upon his ingress, was wearing a dark red cloak with a black mask. The red-cloaked boy was unfolding a scrolled up piece of parchment which he then put on display for Harry's side of the room to see.

"Every year, incoming students are required to sign a contract." the head red-cloak stated, his voice at that awkward stage where voice cracks were inevitable, "This contract binds you to the rules that have been set forth, and you _will_ be held accountable if you choose to go against this agreement."

The head red-cloak then picked up a small needle, "When we call your name, you will come up to this table and prick your finger with this needle, you will then place your blood on this contract, and hand us your robe. Only then will you receive your room number. All first-year dorms are down the hall and to the right of the main common room area. When you reach your second year here, then you will be relocated to another room which will be outside of the common room area. I will now begin calling names."

"Addison, David" a plump boy jumped up and aggressively made his way to the small standing table. The boy was a lot like Dudley with his blond hair and pushy demeanor, so Harry made a mental note to avoid the kid.

The names continued.

"Alcott, Benjamin"

"Broomhall, Owen"

"Caplin, Zachary"

"Clevinger, Carter"

"Covell, Morgan"

So on and so forth, the name's went. Harry was starting to get a bit anxious, when his name was finally called.

"Potter, Harry" Harry was relieved to notice that no one was really paying attention to him. His name was in the very middle of the list, so most everyone was zoning out or already in their assigned rooms.

The boy made his way to the standing table in the center of the room.

"Harry Potter, yes?" The head red-cloak surprised Harry by speaking to him when he hadn't to any of the other first years.

"Um, yeah" was the boy's smooth response. There was a moment's pause where Harry had no clue what to do, as the older boy in front of had yet to give him the needle and paper. The kid's eyes scanned over Harry's form, like he was assessing a display at a museum. Then he spoke.

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other around." Harry couldn't see the face of the person standing before him, but he got the feeling that the head red-cloak was smirking at him. There was something off about this guy, yet the green-eyed youth couldn't exactly figure out what that something was.

Before the boy could contemplate anymore, the tiny needle was placed in his hand.

"So, I uh, just poke my finger?" Harry asked, trying to delay the unavoidable prick to his finger. He wasn't expecting the hand that gave him the pin to grab hold of his fingers. The head red-cloak directed the needle to his thumb and gave it a slight prick, just enough to draw a single drop of blood. Harry winced, and looking up at the kid in front of him, he could see the boy's eyes darken. The leader's thumb stroked Harry's hand and pressed the boy's thumb on the parchment, and Harry was officially creeped out. However, he didn't want to be rude, so he just ducked his head and waited for the other to let go of his hand. When Harry's hand was finally let go of, he glanced back Harry was greeted with a black mask, mere inches from his face. The leader of the red-cloaks leaned in further, to whisper something into Harry's ear, "Your room number is 412. I'll be seeing you around Harry."

Harry's body was wracked with a shudder of revulsion, and he took that as his cue to leave. Quickly, the boy made a Beeline for his dorm room while desperately trying to ignore the feeling of the creep's eyes on his back.

He just couldn't get a break!

* * *

To say that Tom was shocked would be a complete understatement. Harry Potter was real… Living, breathing, Harry Fucking Potter!

Did that mean others from his dream actually existed? Or was it just Harry and him that were real?

Could he actually have magical powers? Tom dismissed that thought as soon as it breached his mind. No, if he had magic, then he would have known that by now.

Either way, the boy's presence should not affect any of his plans. Tom would just need to steer clear of Harry Potter. Besides, judging from the way the head red-cloak was essentially leering at the kid, it was safe to say that there were other things to keep Potter occupied.

If there was anything Tom Riddle learned from his dream - and if any of the dream translated over to reality - it was that Harry Potter is a magnet for trouble, and Tom could not afford trouble.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 End**

* * *

Author's Note:

To one of the readers who asked a question which I was unable to respond to, I'll answer your question here. Unlike Harry, when Tom wakes up from the dream, it was like waking up from a nightmare. That made it easier to accept reality for what it was. Therefore, he just brushes off the difference in time periods from his dream and real life.

Thanks for reading!


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